Dads and Daughters, Princesses and Kings
by Dani-Ellie03
Summary: David set the knife and mayo jar on the counter before turning a concerned look on Emma. "I was just wondering why my daughter was awake and preparing a sandwich at this hour." (or, a midnight chat with Charming and Emma, a few days post-4x11.)


**Title: **Dads and Daughters, Princesses and Kings  
**Summary: **David set the knife and mayo jar on the counter before turning a concerned look on Emma. "I was just wondering why my daughter was awake and preparing a sandwich at this hour."  
**Spoilers:** Up through 4x11, "Heroes and Villains."  
**Characters:** Charming and Emma. Daddy Charming, ahoy!  
**Rating/Warning: **K+, for mild cursing. Daddy/daughter content ahead, so prepare accordingly. ;)  
**Disclaimer:** _Once Upon a Time_ and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. Not mine, never will be mine, etc.  
**Author's Note:** Anonymous prompt on Tumblr: 'Could you maybe write something daddy!charming for this: "Daddy, someday I will find my prince charming but you will always be my king"?' Daddy Charming is one of my favorite things, and as is typical when I write these two, this ended up being far longer than I intended because Emma and Charming just took off on their own. Feedback makes me happy! Hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

Of all the frustrations in Emma Swan's life, she ranked insomnia as the single most frustrating thing on the planet.

Emma _hated_ insomnia. Hated with a capital H. There was nothing more aggravating than wanting – no, _needing_ – to sleep and having sleep not show up to the party. She was so damn exhausted but no matter what she did, sleep refused to come.

She'd tried lying on her right side, then her left, then her back. She'd tried curling up, she'd tried stretching out. She'd tried to regulate her breathing to mimic the deep breaths of sleep, she'd tried focusing on a soothing mental scene.

Nothing worked. She just couldn't seem to make her brain turn off.

After three solid hours of tossing and turning, she huffed and kicked the covers off her legs, finally admitting defeat. She heaved a sigh, climbed out of bed, and tiptoed downstairs. Now what? What the hell did one do at … ugh, two-twenty in the freaking morning?

The refrigerator caught her eye. After a few seconds of thought, Emma shrugged to herself. Maybe the mindless activity of making and eating a snack would quiet her tumbling thoughts enough for her to sleep.

Feeling better now that she had something resembling a plan, she strode to the fridge, opened it, and pulled out all the fixings for a turkey sandwich. It was only after the fridge door closed, taking the dim light with it, that she realized that making a sandwich at oh-dark-hundred was going to be a bit difficult. She didn't want to turn on any of the lights for fear of waking everyone else – especially, heaven forbid, her baby brother – but there wasn't enough ambient light for her to really see what she was doing.

Wait a second. She had freakin' _magic_. After activating magic candles, blowing holes in buildings, and breaking containment spells, magically creating a work light should be a piece of cake.

Emma shut her eyes, concentrating her magic. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach, responding to her call and warming her from the inside out. When the internal temperature was just right, she flicked her fingers towards the ceiling. Sure enough, a little ball of white light appeared and hovered overhead, providing just enough illumination that she could see her work space.

Perfect.

Just as she stuck the knife into the mayonnaise jar, both the knife and the jar were plucked from her hands from behind. Stifling a gasp, she whirled around and caught her father's eye in the split second before the room was once again plunged into darkness.

"Sorry," they both whispered at the same time, him for startling her and her for losing the concentration holding up the light.

Though Emma's heart was still racing, she managed to gather the concentration to throw up the light again. "I didn't mean to startle you," a sheepish David whispered.

"Maybe next time use your words," she replied, half-joking and half-serious.

"So noted," he smiled. He set the knife and mayo jar on the counter before turning a concerned look on Emma. "I was just wondering why my daughter was awake and preparing a sandwich at this hour."

Emma sighed. "Your daughter is awake because insomnia sucks and she's making a sandwich at this hour because what the hell else is there to do?"

He smiled again and nodded towards the stools on the other side of the island, wordlessly telling her to take a seat. All right, what the hell was he doing? Still, she did as he oh so silently asked, perching on a stool with a barely concealed frown of confusion on her face.

When he set a pot on the stove and grabbed the milk from the fridge, Emma got it: he was making her some cocoa.

He turned the range light on so he could see, eliminating the need for her magical one. She released it and watched as he got the cocoa going and took over her sandwich construction. "Do you want to tell me why you can't sleep?" he asked as he spread the mayonnaise on the bread.

"Just can't sleep," she shrugged. "A lot's happened over the past few days."

Which was probably the understatement of the century. The snow monster, the ice cave, finding Elsa, the Dairy Queen, her own spiraling magic, finding Anna and Kristoff, the Spell of Shattered Sight, saying goodbye to the crew from Arendelle, and everything that had happened with Killian.

Holy crap, all of that had been enough to fill a freakin' _lifetime_. And now that Emma had the chance to_ breathe_ because life in Storybrooke was – knock on wood – peaceful for the first time in like, ever, it was all hitting her. Each and every emotion she'd buried for the sake of just getting through her days was making itself known now.

"I know, kiddo, but I think it would help if you talked about it."

Maybe, but Emma didn't know if she _wanted_ to talk about it. Hoping the gesture would come across as _it's fine, really_, she shrugged again.

Though Emma could tell David was disappointed, he covered well. He simply nodded and refocused his attention on the turkey sandwich.

The silence that stretched out struck Emma as somewhat awkward. Because here she was at two-thirty in the morning, sitting at the kitchen island and watching her father make her a turkey sandwich and a mug of cocoa, and she couldn't even bring herself to talk to him. He wanted to talk to her … or maybe he just wanted to help her clear her mind. Either way, all he wanted was something simple and she couldn't find it within herself to give it to him.

He finished the sandwich, sliced it diagonally, and slid the plate in front of her. "Thanks," she said.

"You're welcome." David quickly made a couple of turkey and cheese rolls for himself and shifted his attention to the cocoa.

She nibbled on the sandwich; it was good, better than she would have been able to make herself. Maybe turkey sandwiches just tasted better at oh-dark-hundred … or maybe it was so good because her dad had made it.

And something about that realization made her feel just like the lost little girl she'd been, the little girl who'd longed to have her dad there to make things better. The little girl who'd wished so hard that someone would notice her, someone would comfort her. The little girl who'd wished so hard that someone would care.

She had that someone now. She had a whole bunch of someones. And now that she had them … "I can't quite work out how I feel about Ingrid," she blurted.

David turned around, eyes wide in surprise. Then, almost imperceptibly, he squared his shoulders and nodded, as if shoring up courage and commanding himself not to blow this chance. "I can imagine," he said softly.

"I ... I hate what she did to Elsa and me. It was wrong. It was manipulative. It was _cruel_. But at the same time, I did love her once. She was … she was the only one who'd ever wanted me. And in the end, she did the right thing. I just … I don't know. I'm not making any sense."

"You're making perfect sense, Emma," he said, his voice soft and full of comfort. "I think what you're feeling is perfectly natural. You're angry with her for what she did to you but you also remember how wonderful it felt when she loved you, when she wanted you. Of course you'd want to hang onto the love you had with and for her."

To Emma's horror, the back of her throat had begun to constrict with emotion. She swallowed hard and tore her gaze from her father's, staring down at her sandwich instead.

"That anger you feel towards her is natural, too," David continued, undeterred. "The anger both in the past and now. I just hope for your sake that the anger eventually fades enough for you to be able to look back fondly on those good memories you made with her."

That got her to blink up at him in surprise. "Why?"

"Because you deserve to have some good childhood memories, Emma. You deserve to know how it felt to be loved and safe and wanted. You had that with her. Regardless of how fleeting it was, that love and security and sense of belonging … they were all real. Don't let everything that happened afterward darken those memories for you." 

With a gentle smile, he turned away to finish the cocoa. Once again, she picked at her sandwich. She still wasn't quite sure how she felt about Ingrid but maybe David was right. Maybe the anger would fade with time and she'd be able to take comfort in those good memories.

Her eyes followed her father around the dimly-lit kitchen as he poured two mugs of hot chocolate and finished them off with whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon. He slid one mug across the island to her while keeping the other for himself. After a moment's hesitation, he carried his mug to the island and eased down on the stool next to her.

After the first sip of cocoa, Emma set her mug down. "This is really good. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She could feel his eyes on her, as if waiting to see if she was going to continue the conversation. The silence was starting to get to her again but she didn't think she could handle any more talking about her reasons for being awake. She decided instead to turn the tables on her father. "So how come you're awake at early-thirty?"

He hesitated, glancing over at her before answering. "Truthfully, it's been a little too quiet in this apartment the last couple of nights."

Emma arched an eyebrow. A tiny apartment with a newborn baby was never quiet. "The little squirt deciding to make his presence known is your idea of quiet?"

He smiled. "I was talking more about the absence of soft voices conversing in the bedroom above mine. It's crazy how quickly one becomes used to something, isn't it?"

There was that tickling in the back of Emma's throat again. It _was_ crazy how quickly one became used to something, and in Emma's case, that something was chatting with a buddy after turning off the light.

David's smile grew kinder, more sympathetic. "You miss it, too, don't you?"

Holy crap, did she miss it. Elsa was Emma's first _real_ friend … or at least her first real friend who didn't turn out to be her mother. She'd saved Emma's life in the ice cave. She was the only person with whom she could share her fears about magic and being the savior. She was the only one who _understood_, who _knew_ firsthand the heavy burden associated both with their powers and with being thrust into positions of responsibility over an entire citizenry with no training or guidance whatsoever.

Emma missed having that outlet, and she missed being that outlet for someone else. She missed having a friend with whom she could talk about everything and nothing each night until she fell asleep.

She just missed Elsa.

With tears pricking the backs of her eyes, Emma sighed. "Having friends in other realms sucks."

"I don't doubt it," David said, his voice soft and full of sympathy, "but just because she's in another realm doesn't mean it has to be goodbye forever."

Emma set down her mug and frowned at her father, silently demanding an explanation.

"You can do some absolutely amazing things with your magic, Emma. When Regina had you perform that bit of mirror magic, you saw into the Enchanted Forest, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but–"

"So we know your magic can touch other realms at least enough to peek into them, and you've gotten a lot stronger since then. Perhaps, if you put your mind to it, you'll be able to communicate with Elsa through mirror magic."

That actually wasn't a half-bad idea. Hadn't she called it Skype in front of Henry? Maybe it really could work as a magical Skype. Even if it didn't, she'd be no worse off than she was now. And if it did work … well, then, that would be _amazing_.

She felt the corners of her mouth lifting into a smile. Spurred on by her rising spirits, David added, "We could always check the house in the woods to see if the portal to Arendelle still exists on our end. If you are able to talk to her, you can always ask if she knows whether it still exists on her end. If it does, I don't see why you two wouldn't be able to visit each other from time to time."

For the first time in days, Emma felt a twinge of excitement. Of course she was trying not to get her hopes up too high because there were a _hell_ of a lot of maybes and ifs in David's suggestion, but still. "You really think so?"

He nodded, smiling at her. "It's worth a shot, isn't it?"

She smiled back. It was most definitely worth a shot.

Silence again settled over the two of them as Emma took a couple more bites of sandwich and David finished his own midnight snack. It was a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of their mugs being set back down on the counter after they took their sips. Eventually David stood, set his plate in the sink, and then reclaimed his seat next to his daughter.

It was then that his expression changed and Emma once again saw him almost imperceptibly shoring up his courage. Emma immediately tensed; whatever her father had in mind, it was clearly not going to be easy.

And then, he spoke. "We've talked about Ingrid and Elsa but there's one more big event that's happened over the past few days."

Emma began to make herself small in her seat. She didn't want to talk about this, didn't even want to _think _about it. Her heart began to race from the mere memory of it.

He took a deep breath and said, "Snow told me what happened with Hook."

Now her heart was pounding in her chest. The fear descended on her just as strongly as it had that day.

Knowing full well he was pushing his daughter, David gently continued. "She said that Gold froze her in place but she was aware of everything … which meant you were aware of everything, too."

And oh God, she had been. She'd only been able to watch helplessly as Gold tried crush Killian's heart to dust. No matter how much she'd tried, she hadn't been able to move. She'd tried calling upon her magic to break the spell Gold had put on her but it hadn't worked. Maybe his magic had been too strong or maybe she'd been too panicked; all she'd known was that she was going to watch Killian die.

Just as she'd watched Graham and Neal die, she was going to have to watch Killian die, and honestly, she hadn't thought she'd be able to survive it.

And then a miracle had happened. Belle had burst in with barely a second to spare and had ordered Gold to spare Killian's life.

Emma herself had returned his heart and Killian was now perfectly fine. But for those few agonizing seconds that felt like a damn eternity, he almost wasn't.

David grasped her shaking hands, startling her back to the present. He looked at her with a kind, comforting expression and said, "I'm so sorry you had to witness that, Emma. I can't imagine how terrifying that was for you."

It was as if his words were magic. The tears she'd been desperately trying to hold back ever since they'd started talking spilled from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

And there was her dad, releasing her hands to pull her into a hug. He held her tightly, one strong hand on her back and the other bracing the back of her head. "Let it out, kiddo," he murmured into her ear.

If his previous words were magic, his new ones completed the spell. Everything – every single little shred of emotion she'd felt since coming back from the past – rushed forward. The panic, the worry, the fear, the happiness, the sadness, the anger, the frustration, the helplessness. All of it crashed against her, combining into a raging storm of emotion that she couldn't bear any longer.

She cried tears of longing for friends made and lost and tears of hope that those friends wouldn't be lost forever. She cried tears of anger over Ingrid's plan to tear her family from her and tears of grief for the only woman who'd ever shown the slightest interest in her, the only woman who'd wanted to _adopt_ her. She cried tears of anger over Gold's betrayal, tears of fear over Killian's brush with death, and tears of sweet relief over his survival against the odds.

Emma found herself clinging to David – to her _dad_ – and in response, he tightened his arms around her. "It's all right, Emma," he murmured. "It's all right."

Though she didn't know how long it took, Emma eventually cried all the tears she had in her. When her cries had dwindled, she pulled out of her father's embrace, sniffling and smiling sheepishly.

"I'm sorry for pushing you," he said, smiling back at her as he dried her cheeks with the pad of his thumbs, "but I thought you needed the release."

She most certainly had. Her eyes were burning now, both from crying and from the exhaustion weighing down on her now that all those emotions were out instead of tumbling around in her mind.

"And if I may say so, you like you'll be able to be able to sleep now," David continued.

"I _feel _like I'll be able to sleep now," Emma replied through a self-deprecating chuckle. David's smile grew wider. "Thank you, for the snack and for talking. I did need the release, so … thanks."

The tension in his shoulders relaxed. "Anything for my princess," he said, clearly relieved that she wasn't angry with him for pushing.

He once again ran his thumb along her cheek, which sent fresh tears to her eyes. She was his princess, wasn't she? If she'd grown up with him and Snow, she would have grown up as an actual princess. Her parents would have been Queen Snow White and King David, and she would have been Princess Emma.

She could see the sheer love and adoration for her swimming in David's eyes, and it finally hit her: he was her _dad_. "Dad" was no longer some abstract concept; he was the man standing in front of her. David loved her more than words could express and wanted to protect her from harm and wanted to make sure she knew she was safe and loved.

No matter how old she was, no matter how old he was, he would always be her king and she would always be his little princess.

For fear that she would set off another _moment_ if she voiced that sentiment, she cleared her throat and asked teasingly, "Anything? Even if it means your princess wanting to go on dates with a pirate?"

"Even if it means my princess wanting to go on dates with a pirate," he confirmed, chuckling. Then he turned somewhat serious. "I don't know if you know this, but you glow when you're around him, Emma. I want every happiness for you, and I can't deny that he's making you happy. Just … do me a favor and allow me the dad stuff every now and again, all right?"

Well, then. "Yeah, I suppose I can do that," Emma said softly. Truthfully, as embarrassing as the dad stuff was, she sort of loved it, too. She'd spent so many years wishing she had a dad to do the dad stuff and now, she did.

She climbed off the stool, set her empty plate and mug in the sink, and headed for the staircase to go back to bed. At the foot of the stairs, she turned to face the man who, in another life, would have been king. "At the risk of sounding disgustingly cheesy … I like being your princess."

Apparently, disgustingly cheesy had its place. David's eyes registered surprise as he gave her a gentle smile. He opened his mouth to respond and Emma held her breath, preparing herself for a disgustingly cheesy moment in return.

It never came because he thankfully decided to go with a joke. "Does that mean I can start calling you princess now?"

She playfully wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, no, it doesn't." She paused. Then, because she kind of liked the idea of her dad having a little nickname for her, added, "Kiddo is fine, though."

There again was that gentle smile. "As the princess requests," he teased, bowing slightly. "Good night, kiddo."

"Night, Dad."

Emma smiled to herself at the touched sparkle in David's eyes. Apparently she'd just bestowed upon him the greatest title in either world.


End file.
